The Favor

By DX

Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

Ryan wiped the sweat from his palms as he walked up the stone steps to the screen door. With a shaky hand he rang the bell and waited the eternal few seconds before the door opened. His breath caught in his throat as the image of beauty stood before him. Her hair of liquid jet spilled across her milky skin and her eyes filled with starlight sparked from beneath her mane.

 "Uh," Ryan found his voice. "I'm here to see Marco. He's expecting me."

 The woman said nothing.  The shimmering gold disk that locked her lips away made sure she remained silent. She only winked longingly at him, then lead the way. As she tuned, Ryan couldn't help but notice her battleship breasts, her tiny breath stealing waist, and her smackable derriere that peeked out from beneath her way too short skirt. Nothing was left to the imagination as she walked on her tiptoe high heels. Ryan had to adjust himself as they moved across the living room to the kitchen as his arousal was evident. It was not wise to look at Marco's wife with impure thoughts.

 Marco sat at the kitchen table, a paper napkin tucked into his shirt, and he smiled proudly as Ryan entered. "Ryan! My man! How you doin'?" He waved at the empty chair across from him. "Sit down! You remember my wife, Erin?" He motioned to the beautiful woman who had escorted him in. "You might not recognize her with her new Chasti-Permalocks. She was a little too promiscuous one time too many." He smiled. "Now she's more attentive to my needs." He snapped his fingers. "Where are my manners? Have you had any breakfast? Here, have a danish! Little John picked them up fresh this morning. Ah, so good!" He motioned to the behemoth standing behind him. "Little John, get Mr. Ryan a cuppa coffee ana danish!" He then motioned to the smaller man standing by the fridge. "Ryan, you remember Nick?"

 Ryan nodded nervously at the slight man with steely eyes who only picked his fingernails with a stiletto.

 Marco pulled the napkin from his neck and folded it neatly. "Ryan, I appreciate you coming over so early and on such short notice.”  His voice became serious.  “A few weeks ago you came to me and asked for a favor.”  He brightened.  “I have some good news for you." He snapped his fingers at Nick and the little man put his knife away and picked up the T.V. remote. "I think you'll be pleased." Marco settled back to watch the T.V..

 Blurry, eerie green images sharpened to clarity as the video camera's low-light warmed up. Shaky, moving images as the cameraman made his way clumsily through the bushes.  Ryan recognized his house (his old house), then watched as his car (his old car), wheeled into the driveway. He caught his breath as he watched his wife Megan (his ex-wife Megan) climb from behind the wheel. Her long legs flowed from beneath the skirt of her expensive dress.  Her platinum hair, lime green in the video, splayed in the gentle wind. Her eyes, the beautiful eyes that he first fell in love with, were unconcerned as she made her way up the walk, the click of her high heels the only sound in the video. She fumbled for her keys unaware of the hulking shadow silently that moved up behind her.

 "Danish?" Ryan nearly leapt from his chair as Little John slid the plate before him. Ryan nodded a weak thank you, then looked back at the screen just as Little John in the video, as quiet as a mouse, calmly and smoothly stepped up behind Meg and with one massive arm grabbed her, crushing her arms to her sides and lifting her into the air while the other hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her screams of alarm. As he hoisted her, head lights from a delivery van flared, blotting out the video for terse seconds as it made its way up the drive. The cameraman was moving, following Little John as the big man stepped into the opening door of the van. Nick was there, closing the door behind them. Fighting to keep balance in the now moving van, Nick peeled long strips of silver tape. The camera panned back to Meg's face. The hand from the cameraman, a woman's delicate hand, reached out to Meg's panicked face.  As Little John pried open Meg’s mouth, the camera operator shoved in a fat rubber ball in, wedging it tight with her thumb. She moved her thumb as Nick layered on the tape. Within moments, Meg was bound tight in yards of silver tape and silenced.

 The image flickered and the scene changed. It was color now. A lit warehouse. In the center of the room was a tall box with clear acrylic walls, beside that was a cement mixer chugging away. Little John's giant body blocked the view for a few seconds as he carried Meg in. Her muffled cries and protests were ignored as she was laid out on a table where Nick quickly strapped her down. That done, Nick donned surgical gloves.

 "Nick went to med school." Marco explained, motioning at the TV.

 "Veterinary." Nick clarified.

 Ryan was transfixed on the screen, his mouth agape, as Nick in the video pulled out his switch blade and cut away Meg's clothes. Marco's wife, Erin was on the screen now.  She balled up Meg's mane of hair and stuffed it into a bathing cap which she stretched over the struggling woman's head. She stepped away and was replaced by Little John who's massive hands clamped Meg's head to hold her steady.

 Nick took a swab and rubbed Meg's neck, covering her with antiseptic. He then coated his knife.

 Ryan held his breath as he watched Nick slowly insert the knife into Meg's throat, deftly cutting into her trachea.  Nick then inserted a stoma, re-routing Meg's breathing, and secured it with a band around her neck.

 "You'll notice she's quiet now." Marco narrated. "Her air is now redirected from her vocal cords. This will ensure an un-interrupted air way, and perfect silence. Not a whimper."

 Ryan watched the video as Nick then took a thin, plastic tube and inserted it into the stoma. "For feeding." Marco explained. 

 Once Nick was satisfied the tube was down into her stomach, he nodded, and Little John unstrapped Meg from the table.  He then lifted her up, and carried her to the box.

 Erin held the door to the box open as Little John lifted Meg up and stood her up on the concrete base of the box. Nick then took long rods of re-bar and set them into preset holes. Once secured, Meg was wedged tightly, standing in the box. Nick took a large tube and connected the stoma in her throat to a special hole in the clear, plastic door of the box.

 Meg desperately struggled against the steel rods and silver tape to no avail. Her eyes of anger and fear flashed hotly. Watching the video, Ryan felt the need to adjust himself again as her hot body clad in only a bra and panties writhed in desperation and frustration.

 Back in the video, Little John stood off to the side and took a letter from his pocket. He then fished out his reading glasses. "Dear Megan," the letter began. "You fuggin' bitch. I bet you thought you was so smart when your slick divorce lawyer took everything I owned, even my home.  Well, now the joke is on you. I give you this new house of concrete. You shall be entombed alive, buried in cement and dropped into the ocean. There you will be kept alive in the cold embrace of stone until the end of time. No one will rescue you. As we speak, your boyfriend is currently wearing a cement overcoat and holding up part of the new highway overpass. Enjoy your new home. Sincerely, Ryan."

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Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

Brad's New Mistress

By Dx

Copyrighted 1997, 2/2025 all rights reserved.

 Brad winced as the crop lashed his nipple with a stinging welt. Pain racked his chest in layers, its warmth feeling its way into his heart, down his spine and out of his erect body in invisible sparks.

 His mistress flicked her crop again against the nipple, counting aloud: "48!" 

 Brad whimpered as sweat rolled steadily down his body. The iron shackles holding him to the x-frame dug cruelly into his skin. His lips trembled as spittle slipped from his mouth. A peanut was perched precariously between his teeth. He could hear the shout of "49!" as his blistered nipple shuddered against another skillful blow. A cry escaped his throat.

 One more, he chanted to himself, one more.

 Surely his nipples were cracked and bleeding.  She must have gone over board this time. Brad tried to force the idea from his mind and concentrate on the peanut in his teeth, but he knew what ever damage she had done, he would not be able to hide.

 "50!" 

 The last blow fell with a whistling snap and landed on target to Brad's inflamed nipple with an unequaled force, re-awakening pain numbed nerves and sending them into overload. Brad felt the tiny, fragile peanut shatter in his mouth.

 "You almost made it." Her voice, purring, cooing, flowing like syrup into his ear. "Your punishment is fifty more."

 "Please..." Brad whimpered, gasping. "My, my wife will..." Brad realized his mistake. He had mentioned the marks in last week's session. He had told his mistress that it was getting harder and harder to hide them from his unsuspecting wife.

 In response mistress whipped him harder, clamped his balls and nipples and laid into them with a tawse, screaming that he only had one mistress and he had better choose. 

 Brad trembled, feeling he was about to suffer, horribly.

 But this time, instead of fire and brimstone, she smiled, tenderly, sweetly, her eyes casting their spells of light. "But isn't that what you paid for?" She laid a leather clad finger on his raging erection. "I believe it is." Her finger circled about his loins, feeling his scrotum, moving the testicles about in their sack while pre-cum fluid oozed from his cock. “You're paying for the privilege of serving me. You are here for my pleasure, not yours. I think you've forgotten that. You can find a hundred mistresses to flog you like a dog, but not like I can." 

 The crop lashed suddenly at his engorged cock sending a rippling pain through him. Her arm was a blur as the crop lashed again and again. Brad screamed as his mind paraded images that he was being stroked with a plume of fire. He closed his eyes as he could feel the brimming orgasm within him push for release.

 She stopped suddenly, touching his raging member with her cold finger tips. "I don't want a slave who thinks me as his employee, telling me when to start and stop. I want a slave who will devote his body to me, his soul..." She let the thought trickle as she slipped the hot flange of the crop gently against the underside skin of his cock. "Give this to me." She whispered. "Do you want only one mistress? Then pledge your cock to me, so that I may own it and do with it as I please."

 She gripped his cock in her hand and felt its seizing twitch. Brad was drunk with pain, mad with pleasure, he had yet to cum and she wasn't going to let him. He forgot his wife and forgot his marriage as his hips thrust into her palm. "Yes my mistress!" He panted wildly. "I pledge my cock, my balls, to you to do as you please!"

 Her crop fell again, this time against the underside of his penis while her hand clutched the glands. Within seconds he spewed like a fountain. 

 He felt not pain, not guilt, only ecstasy.

 As his orgasm subsided, he looked up with blurry eyes at his mistress as she reached up to him and forced a large ball gag into his mouth and strap it closed. His addled mind wondered why she wasn't freeing him, why the session wasn't over.

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First night forever.

By DX

Copyrighted 12/2000, 1/2025, all rights reserved.

 Roberta checked her appearance in the hall mirror.  She made sure her little cap was properly pinned to her hair, and that her latex uniform was properly shinned.  

 Mistress was a stickler for appearance.  

 Roberta looked closely at the sparkling chrome plate that was bolted onto her lower face and checked for smudges.  It was seamless, and perfectly sealed her mouth.

 She tugged on the way to short skirt to pull the wrinkles out of her black latex maid's uniform, almost causing her heavy breasts to pop out of the already strained corset.  

 As her springy boobs bounced back up, her eyes couldn't help but notice the flash of steel when her skit hiked up and showed the plate that obscured her genitals.  

 A flawless chastity device, permanent and complete.  

 Her hand was drawn to it.  She touched its cold, smooth surface, an absolute barrier preventing any stimulation, while hiding her true identity.

 When so long ago it Roberta used to be Robert, and the first night of his chastisement.

 Robert felt the vodka slide down into him like a warm, fiery oil.  "Oh, Candice!  That’s what the doctor ordered."  He moaned as he sipped, while his wife's delicate hands helped him take his wet trench coat off.  She had met him at the door, her hair down, her makeup done right, wearing a most provocative red dress that was illegal to wear in public in several States.

 She kissed him with a slow bat of her eyes.  “How was your flight?"  She asked dreamily, as she hung up his coat.

 He sipped his drink.  "Uneventful."

 She draped her arms around his shoulders, and blew gently in his ear, tickling him.  "Gone a whole week… how I missed you."  She kissed his ear.  "You don't have to work anymore, now that you're a rich man."

 Robert shrugged, and wrapped his arms around her slim waist.  “Candice, you know I like to make my own way.  I didn't marry you for your money."

 Candice smiled.  "I've given the maid the night off."  Her gaze smoldered.  "I made dinner."

 He breathed deep as her perfume consumed him.  "I think we can skip dinner."

 "You'll need your strength."  She smiled coyly and slipped from his grasp.  “I'll get things ready.  You relax and enjoy your drink…  aaaaannnnd, there are some insurance forms on the coffee table that need to be signed."  She touched his nose with a playful finger.  "I figure we'll get them out of the way,”  She smiled seductively. "least we get distracted and forget."  Her eyes sparkled with mischief before she turned and sashayed into the kitchen.

 Robert sipped his drink and found the forms laid out on the table.  Boring!  He thought as he pen whipped them and headed for the dinning room, while his mind filled with visions of his wife's callipygous body poured into that dress.  

 He sat at the table.  Candlelight sparkled on the fine china and silver, and he felt like a king on his throne.  

 He sipped his martini, and noticed underneath the plate before him, the place mat was a blown up photo. 

 He lifted the plate.  

 It was a warm summer day.  A couple sat at an outside cafe in Soho.   He was a handsome, mature man and she was a beautiful young woman.

 Ice suddenly balled in the pit of Robert's stomach.

 He had met her four months ago while in New York.  She was so charming, so intelligent, so beautiful.  

 She was a very wild ride in bed.

 He visited her almost every weekend.

 "Well?"  Candice's voice was like a spear.

 Robert looked up, his mouth hanging open.  “It's not what you think."  Was his reflex answer.

 Candice tilted her head in wonder.  “It's not?"  She picked up an envelope and pulled out photos, then tossed them before him.  His naked lean body against hers, his hands cupping her ample breasts.  Her head back in silent orgasmic scream.  “I suppose this is a misunderstanding?  Perhaps we should get both sides of the story."  She looked up.  "Wynn?"  She called.

 Robert felt the hand of death reach into his chest and grab a firm hold of his heart as Wynn, the woman from the photos, walked out of the kitchen.  “Hello, Robert.”  She looked grim and disappointed.   "I thought you said you were soon to be divorced, not newly married."  She laughed breathlessly.  "And there I was, freshly divorced from a cheating husband, and as vulnerable as they come."  She shook her head, then looked at him with eyes of disgust.  "You made me the other woman, you bastard."

 He looked up to Candice for appeal, but her eyes were filling with tears.  "Daddy had you followed.”  She explained.  “He never liked you."  She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.  "You promised this would stop after we were married!"  She squeaked.  "You said you'd be faithful!"

 "They all do."  Wynn mumbled.

 Robert looked away, unable to face them.  "I'm sorry.  I can't help it, I..."

 Wynn snorted.  "Save the lame excuses."

 Robert nodded.  "I guess I better go."  He whispered.

 “No, you won't!"  Candice shouted.  "You're not getting a divorce.  That pre-nuptial agreement would leave you a rich man."

 Wynn leaned on the table.  "We've had a little time to cook up something more appropriate for you."

 Robert set his jaw as defiance flared.  "Excuse me?"

 Candice's tears were gone, her sorrow replaced by anger.  "Daddy laid a trap for you and you took the bait.  He's been monitoring that account you've been embezzling.  Those forms you signed, one of them is a confession!"

 Robert suddenly jumped up to get the documents and tear them up, but his legs gave away and dropped him to the floor.  He struggled to roll over and look up.  The room was spinning.  

 Wynn smiled as she knelt down beside him.  "I'm sorry Robert, did you forget I'm working my way through med-school as a pharmacist?  I might have accidentally slipped something into your martini."

 Candice stood over him, the forms in hand.  "There is also a document of agreement that indentures you to me to work off that ‘Loan' you procured.  It should take about ninety-nine years, maybe more.”  She held up another form.  "This one is a request from you to me.  It asks my help in your sexual reassignment surgery.  Yes, Robert.  You will undergo permanent, sexual reassignment.”  She smiled as if she tasted something delicious.  “See, we feel,”  She motioned to Wynn.  “that you would think the worst thing in the world to be is a woman.  You have no respect for women, and you think we are only on this planet to serve your cock.”  Her eyes flashed.  “Wynn and I think, that your worst nightmare is to wake up one morning as a woman; but, not just a woman, a cock craving sissy slut.”

 She smiled happily.  “I can see the absolute terror in your eyes, you misogynist bastard.”  Her eyes hardened.  “You really think so little of us!  That we’re brainless playthings for you.”  She tilted her head to Wynn.  “Well, we think that you will make such a pretty little girl for us.  While you were on your…”  Her lips twisted as she spat the word.  “Business” trips, Wynn and I have discovered that we have more in common than just a cheating louse."

 Wynn rose, and slipped an easy arm around Candice.  “What’s good for the goose,”  She said softly, and Robert watched the two beautiful women kiss, their tongues twirling.  

 Even in his drugged state, Robert felt his manhood swell.

 Candice broke with a gasp.  She looked down.  "She is a much better kisser than you!  I could kiss her all day, but we have work to do.”  She held up another form.  "This one gives me power of attorney over you.”  She fanned the documents before him.  “All these need now is to notarize them to make them legal."

 "Oh, I can do that for you, Can."  Wynn offered.  “I am a licensed notary public.”

 Candice smiled prettily.  “Oh?  Could you Wynn?”  Her voice dripped with sarcasm.  “You're so kind."  She watched as Wynn started signing the forms, then glanced at Robert.  "That's your life in a legal nutshell, Robert.  I think the real reason I'm going to change you into my little bitch is because I'm enjoying having such power over you.”  

 She leaned over him, and he could see his reflection of fear in her eyes.  “You’re going to be my personal slave, Robert.”  She whispered.  “But don't worry, it will be anything but dull.  Wynn and I have come up with a way to make you feel the pain that you put us through."  

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Copyrighted, 12/200, 1/2025, all rights reserved.
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